Rejected
by MasterPassionCreed
Summary: Some believe Chell is mute, others she is not. We think of her as scared, utterly heartbroken, or strong and well aware of her surroundings. She is one and a hundred at the same time, different to each of us. For each chapter, I will give my voice to one of our many versions of Chell. These are the events of Portal, retold through the eyes of them all.
1. Trial

**Rejected  
**_A Chell longfic_

_Chapter 1 - Trial_

"Martha, it's time to leave. Write your name, and let's go."

The little girl purses her lips, pensive, playing around with her black marker. She finds it harder to focus in the renewed chaos of the daycare wing; now that everyone else is done — with a little more help, maybe, or less attention — the chatter is impossible to ignore, and the movements burst all at once from the small desks.

She finally chooses she is done, too. Her hand traces a few more letters, round and thick, on the nearest corner.

"By Chell, huh? That is your sister's name, sweetie."

"But Dad," she protests. "She did all the work. She helped me write and build the potato."

There is a new face by his father. She does not remember this man; it must be one of those hidden guys, always working deep down in the facility. Whatever the reason, her words seem to amuse him much.

"Ah, I see now, Robert," he barks. "The younger of the two little geniuses lives up to her Dad's pride, indeed. So, kiddo, you said Chell was here? Where'd she go?"

She doesn't like this guy, but if Dad does, she is fine with it. She leaves him the burden of answering anyway.

"I guess she went back to the testing areas, Henry. You know how hard she is trying. This is a chance she cannot miss."

"That is not my area, so she never worked with me, you know. But Doug's field is closer to that kind of thing," Henry adds, nodding dramatically. "He happened to check on a couple of her designs. Never seen anything like that. So he told me."

There is a look of tired hope in Robert's eyes. This is the Aperture he has gotten used to; a world built on knowing without ever knowing, pulled on by risks, ending up in failure or edge-cutting discoveries that might mean decades of progress. His workplace is more than just that — it is a challenge, and one of his daughters is about to enter it this time.  
But Doug, well, he might now. Doug is different.

"I want to believe it's true. To have her working here – it would certainly help, in more than one way. It is something she cares about. Keeping it all in count, well… you could say the dangers are outnumbered."

"Come on, Bob," Henry laughs. "Is testing the _dangerous _part of Aperture to you?"

"Believe what you want, man. I may be a freshman compared to you, but I already know enough about this place."

The awkward silence stretches between them, in keen contrast with everything else around them. The other side of the corridor shows a new figure, wrapped in her dirty labcoat.

To Robert, all this time feels like nothing — just yesterday he met a morose child, with eyes that were always sad, and now she is a young wonder in her twenties. She has grown up to be so strong. No matter what, his daughters are always beautiful to him.

"There she is! Where have you been hiding, Chell? Look, Martha gave you all the credit. Smart promising scientists, aren't you?"

Henry cannot help noticing that, whatever he says, the response is a glare. This Chell doesn't seem to like him much. She is a bit cold towards the rest of the world, actually, if you don't keep in count her family.  
Especially her sister. She adores her sister, he assumes. He has never seen her smiling like this before — or smiling at all, for that matter.

"We only want the best for her, in any case," Robert whispers. "And, to be honest, I think she likes it here."

Henry watches them communicate. They seem to have built their own quiet language; it is a curious science of fingertips and gestures, meaning something, or nothing at all. Who knows.

He wonders at how Chell can open up with her. He has heard rumors about how fast she was rejected for testing — yet, in her, not a sign of rage or disappointment to be found. Nothing changed to her; she is still here. Doug won't explain.

Odd girls, both of them.

"Sis," Martha chimes, the half-destroyed tuber tight in her plump hands. "Do potatoes become potato plants?"

Chell gives a little nod. Her eyes are laughing.

"Then I want my potato to become a big plant. Bigger and bigger, until it touches the sky. And then I will go to the moon, and you can come too, sis!"

Chell spreads her fingers on the table, palm upwards. To them, it means a promise.

"Promise!"

And then, before they can hold hands, the emergency alarms start screaming.

* * *

Portal fans and friends,

I find myself in the middle of a desperate fanwriting crisis. My lack of motivation is so huge that, if it doesn't stop, I might find myself in need of not writing any more fanfiction. Yes, maybe forever. But I cannot just give up on something that changed my life so radically, after seven years of dedication. So - sustained and helped by my friends and my warrior nature, I am proud to introduce you **my very first Portal longfic**!

Of the many things I love in life, two are relevant to this story: Chell and the multiverse theory. In fact, the most fascinating aspect of Chell is her being a character in so many different ways; each of us lives her in their own way, has several headcanons, ideas and concepts to associate with her. Given how little choice we have in her shoes, given how repetitive her actions are, Chell is one of the strongest silent protagonists I can think of. And she - more than one she - will be the protagonist of my story.

The story arc will cover **both Portal games**, prequel stories included, but in a very peculiar way: with each chapter,** Chell will become a different person**. If in chronological order, I will tell the events of Portal from Chell's point of view; however, each Chell will be associated with a different past, a different character, a different purpose and mindset, **depending on the headcanon** I will choose for that chapter. I will go over the most popular theories the fandom chose for her, invent my own, or simply focus on one of her peculiar traits.

You can also find this story on Tumblr, deviantART and AO3. Please leave concrete feedback if you feel like it, but know I appreciate anything, silent readers included! Thank you so much!

For their support, this fic is lovingly dedicated to Kayla, to Jen, to Léa, to Alavesa, and all the other friends this beautiful fandom brought me.


	2. Abnormal

Chapter 2 - Abnormal

When he is sent to communicate the results, it is always the hardest subjects. Doug is used to it — just like he is used to his colleagues, or rather their nasty habit of dumping on him the worst of the Aperture experience.

These are the days of the big project. No matter how many times he calls it "attempted activation of potentially lethal AI", nobody ever seems to take it seriously; and in his department, the reign of portal technology, funds and working hours are shortened to the point of ridiculous.

Portals — the one significant discovery in Aperture's history, in his opinion. So expensive, always in such danger of being stolen, and yet so effective. Emergency procedure or not, the result is the same; these days, Doug is never left with much to do in his lab. So, when the examiners really don't feel like working, he is sent to deal with the recruits.

He is not fond of these candidates. As far as he knows, most of them only seem to want their easy sixty bucks. And it is unspoken, but palpable, among the truths supervisors conceal — just like happened to most Aperture employees, they never get exactly what they bargained for.

Doug's subjects, however, are always complicated. The profile of this one doesn't make things better — reading it was enough to make him wish for even more coffee.

The worn chair he sits to face is already occupied. This lady does not look impatient nor eager; she seems to always expect problems, and be ready for them all. She wears old baggy clothes and a perfect frown.

The sight forms bizarre connections in Doug's mind. The fragile balance of his own always made him a keen observer. A colleague's comment fills his memory; back in the break room, he was telling how he felt intimidated when she, in response of one seemingly bothersome question, started writing binary like hell.

She must be a programmer, he guesses, or something of the sort. One of those geniuses that just find you, and whom you never expected.

"Douglas Rattmann, Portal Technology researcher, miss," he blurts out tentatively. "Aperture Science thanks you for your collaboration."

The hand he reaches out to her drops on the table. She is making him nervous — her eyes, quite fierce for the average young lady, are enough to tell she won't take anything of Aperture's fancy protocol. After a few seconds of silence, he notices pen and paper in her hand.

"I- I hope your wait wasn't too tedious, miss. Feel free to enjoy your slice of cake, you know. You're welcome to it."

There isn't a single trace of crumbs on the saucer; from the way she looks at it, and the perfect layout of the pottery, Doug understands her fair share of dessert will stay completely untouched.  
That was the meaning of the message, he guesses. She hates lies — it's all about serious business.

"As you probably can guess, I came here to report on your application as a voluntary test subject. It is my duty to shed light on the standard procedures, and to let you know - well, let you know as much as I can."

Which actually is, by any means, a joke, when Doug himself has no idea what is going on.

In spite of her unique results, in spite of her more unique self, what puzzles him the most is the whole surname matter. Redacted data in test subject applications is what he believes to be the rarest occurence in all Aperture bureaucracy, and, indeed, one that is never left in the hands of most workers. He may be a long-term employee, generally considered a brilliant scientist, but he knows too well how unpopular he is; this kind of secret, although familiar, is one he never came across firsthand.

He tries to focus on the past — his vague recollections of the standard regulations, the heap of papers he read just once, may provide an answer, or at least something close to that. He counts the possibilities, the few times when he was not told what guests' names were. And he can definitely tell that, in Aperture, silence always spreads its wings when two topics come up — groundbreaking projects or, less often, competitors.

The feeling of Black Mesa having something to do with her kicks in fast. Whether this is a kind of agreement or — he shivers — Aperture trying to sell part of his hard work, well, he cannot say. In fact, he cannot even guess if his suspects make sense, or it is just another of the forms his anxiety so loves to be embodied by. He tries to read her, and fails.

She keeps staring, never tired, never upset. She is just strong. He feels he is losing his calm, and rushes to the next part.

"You certainly did well, miss," he answers honestly, still not knowing how to explain she has been rejected. "Very well, in more than one way. But the examiners told me to focus onone quality in particular, you see — there is this value that is completely out of the average. Quite interesting."

His guts promise that the words she is scribbling are going to do anything but play along. His guts are always right. The tight, nervous calligraphy Doug finds himself reading sends a clear message; what she cares about is the goal, and any comment is useless. She needs a single answer, with nothing in between.

"You are right, of course," he admits. He always ended up being defeated when it came to protests. Although tinged with hostility, he feels nothing but genuine awe at the thought of Aperture's lawyers.

"According to your results, your level of tenacity is 99th percentile. And - listen, I am not glad to tell you this. But by the testing standards Aperture adopted, it was enough for you to rank 1498th in our list. Your position is way below the acceptable limit."

He feels his teeth quiver at the glare she shoots back.

"I know I am asking much of you, but please, try to understand, miss. You would set a standard of yours. A testing method Aperture has never even dreamt of trying. You would make a terrific subject, in fact, but just- just too beyond the average, if you even started getting down to business. And we have regulations, some limits our system – our new AI system, too – must compute within. That is why you are not deemed suitable for testing. I am so-"

In the very moment she stands up, he feels something is going terribly wrong. And it doesn't come from her, from the raging storm in her eyes, nor from the finger she just raised. It is the echo of a sound, of screams, of doors being sealed in the newest wing.

Living in Aperture comes with an instinct. When it becomes more than just your workplace, you can never get it wrong.

He grabs her wrist, and years of worries — infinite rows of bad feelings, pain, suspects never listened to — flash between their faces in less than one second. She is tough, angry, and the single right person that could exist in this moment. Of all people, he learns then, she is the only one who will truly understand one day.

"Follow me," he pleads. "Trust me."

The way to the cryo-chambers is covered so fast that, to his light and nervous feet, it feels like falling. It becomes less than one minute of blurred greys, of lights going out, of growing cold. Her arm between his fingers feels frailer than his own; it could twist, it could break anytime. But Doug does not need to see her in action — from now, from today, he knows she will make it. He desperately wants her to.

"Please, wait here and be quiet," he whispers as the glass slides closed. "You are safe now, Chell."

Her eyes widen in surprise, full of too many questions to show them all — her name, her safety, her future blur in a cloud of uncertainty. It is the last thing she perceives, and the first she holds in her heart when she awakens among glass walls. It the last time she sees his face.

"I will come back," Doug mutters, trying to give it the sound of a promise. Then, with the feeble hope to keep it, he flings himself behind the first grate he can find.

* * *

_Hello, dear readers!_  
_Go to the first chapter for more info about the nature of the story._

_Chell headcanon for this chapter__: she is a test subject who comes from the outside. I portrayed her as someone with good qualifications, possibly an expert in computing and programming (maybe Black Mesa?) who strives to enter Aperture as an employee. _


End file.
